A Place to Call Home

by Evie Grace

  Rose took the last shift, staying in her mother’s room until midnight before touching her cheek and wishing her goodnight.

  She thought she heard her mouth the words, ‘Goodnight, Rose,’ in return. She turned to say more, hoping that her mother would have the strength to talk, but Ma’s breathing was slow and regular, and she didn’t like to disturb her.

  ‘How is Agnes?’ Aunt Marjorie asked when she returned downstairs.

  ‘She is sleeping,’ Rose said.

  ‘I wonder if we should call the doctor in the morning. We’ll see how she is then. Do you think I should sit with her?’

  Rose shook her head. ‘There is nothing more that we can do, except give her time to recover. I’ve left the bell beside her bed so she can ring if she needs anything. Oh, Aunt, what a terrible day.’

  ‘Have a little brandy, my dear.’

  ‘Oh no, I couldn’t. I can’t bear the smell of it.’

  ‘It will help if you can only get used to it.’ Her aunt poured out two half-glasses of Pa’s best Armagnac, and handed her one. ‘There.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Rose took a gulp and coughed as it hit the back of her throat, stinging and burning. ‘It’s like poison!’

  Her aunt smiled. ‘It won’t hurt you in moderation. Now, sit down – we need to have a talk.’

  ‘Where are the twins? And Arthur? Shouldn’t he be here?’

  ‘The twins are in bed, and I doubt we’ll see hide nor hair of Romeo until the early hours. I wonder what he will say to Tabby.’ Rose sat down on the armchair beside the fire, gazing hopefully at her aunt, the wisest and most learned woman she knew, after Ma. If anyone could save them, Aunt Marjorie could.

  ‘I have to say I’m most surprised that your father didn’t arrange his affairs before he passed away. He was usually assiduous in his attention to detail. He can’t have intended for his family to be left with nothing.’

  ‘I don’t believe that Ma and Pa never married,’ Rose said. ‘They went by Mr and Mrs Cheevers. We are all called by the surname Cheevers, except for Arthur, who not long ago found out that he is still a Fortune, the name he was born with.’

  ‘It is confusing, I grant you,’ Aunt Marjorie said. ‘Your parents never wanted to live a lie. Your father was an open, honest and principled man, so when he took your mother into his house, he was prepared to say that they weren’t married, but he soon found that other people didn’t share his views – there were some who completely cut him off for it. From then on, he decided to hold his tongue and make plans to marry at the earliest opportunity for the sake of your mother’s reputation.’

  ‘What happened then? Did he forget, or something?’

  ‘I don’t know. Your ma and I have always kept in touch by letter, if not face to face. I can’t recall her ever speaking of a wedding.’

  ‘You would have been invited as a witness, surely.’

  ‘I assumed that they’d married quietly. It’s possible that they did, and we haven’t found the evidence yet.’

  ‘Ma was married before – perhaps she’d had enough of ceremonies,’ Rose said.

  ‘Ah, be prepared for another shock.’ Aunt Marjorie drew breath and went on, ‘Your mother wasn’t married when she came to Canterbury.’

  Rose felt her forehead tighten.

  ‘I’m afraid you have been misinformed, perhaps intentionally,’ Aunt Marjorie said. ‘Agnes was working as a governess.’

  ‘I thought – pardon me for interrupting you.’

  ‘It’s all right. Do go on.’

  ‘I was under the impression that Ma was brought up in a grand house and had no need to work.’

  ‘A change in circumstance forced her to leave the house outside Faversham. She was incredibly brave, walking out on a secure but potentially unhappy future, to take up employment, teaching two young ladies. Having found favour with the family, it all went wrong for her. It’s easy to blame the woman for being weak, but you have to remember that Agnes was brought up with certain expectations. She was intelligent, beautiful and talented. She would have graced any drawing room with her conversation and accomplishments. Oh, I know you think I’m biased because, as I’ve said before, she is like a daughter to me.

  ‘Anyway, the young gentleman of the family seduced her with a promise of marriage, and you were the result. It changes nothing, Rose. You have always known that you weren’t related to Oliver by blood.’

  Rose nodded, but her mind was a storm of confusion.

  ‘So Aunt Temperance’s teasing about the way I could pass as a baronet’s daughter was the truth? She knew?’

  ‘I believe she made some enquiries into your mother’s background when she arrived in Canterbury with child. She couldn’t prove anything, but she jumped to her own conclusion. She wouldn’t let the subject drop, ever hopeful that someone would reveal your true father’s name. I’ve always held my tongue, of course.’

  ‘I was born out of wedlock?’ Rose said.

  ‘Which is why Oliver let the story go unchecked. Illegitimacy is still considered a terrible stain on a family’s reputation. Which is worse, Rose? To have one’s daughter called a bastard and the woman you love denounced a whore? Or let people believe in a more acceptable alternative, that your mother was married and some accident befell her husband, your true father?’ Aunt Marjorie poured her another brandy.

  She drank it down. It didn’t burn so much this time.

  ‘I remember Pa once saying in front of the Miskins that not everyone believed in the institution of marriage,’ she said tentatively.

  Aunt Marjorie gazed into the bottom of her glass.

  ‘He was a free-thinker in many ways, encouraging your mother to set up the school where others make their wives stay at home, but no, I can’t believe that Oliver and Agnes didn’t marry out of principle. We will talk to your ma in the morning. She’ll be able to confirm that a marriage took place, and tell us where. We can have a copy made of their entry in the register, and take it to Mr Bray. All will be resolved.’

  Rose hoped it would be as simple as that.

  ‘If it isn’t?’ she said hesitantly.

  ‘Then we will cross that bridge when we come to it. Now, we must retire and try to get some sleep. We have lots to do in the morning.’

  ‘Aren’t you due back in Ramsgate tomorrow?’

  ‘The day after. Don’t worry about me. I’m worried about you.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Rose said. ‘Pa was my father. The other man – well, he means nothing to me. If I ever met him, I would walk away for how he wronged Ma. In a way, he did her a favour. If she had married him, she would never have met …’ The memory of her father’s passing was too raw. She choked back a sob, and Aunt Marjorie finished speaking for her.

  ‘The love of her life,’ she murmured. ‘You are quite right. I have never seen such joy and happiness in one household as I have seen at Willow Place over the years. You are worn out, Rose. Let us say goodnight, and hope for a better day tomorrow.’

  As she retired to bed, feeling numb with exhaustion and a little light-headed from the brandy, she thought she caught the scent of roses wafting across the landing at the top of the stairs. She wondered if Mrs Dunn had asked Jane to refresh the bowl of potpourri with essence because there were no fresh blooms in the garden for the vases. Her candle flickered and died before she reached her room, the unexpected draught adding to her sense of unease. Nothing had felt right since Pa had been taken up to Heaven. How she wished he was here to reassure them that all would be well.

  Chapter Seven

  The Weeping Willows and Grey Stones of the Westgate

  The next morning, Mrs Dunn arrived early for work. Rose heard her shouting at Jane to get up and heat water for the household’s ablutions. As it turned out, Aunt Marjorie was already up and about, tending to Ma and making tea. Rose joined her aunt in the kitchen where she was deep in conversation with the housekeeper as Jane bustled about with pitchers and cloths, red-faced at having been caught napping.

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p; ‘Mrs Cheevers is comfortable,’ Aunt Marjorie said. ‘She needs encouragement and occupation to take her mind off her loss.’

  ‘It’s a terrible thing to lose a husband,’ Mrs Dunn said, somewhat disapprovingly, Rose thought. ‘She must be allowed to grieve.’

  ‘Unfortunately, she must pull herself together to concentrate on the practical issues that have arisen. You have heard about the will?’

  ‘Of course. It’s the talk of—’ Mrs Dunn stopped abruptly.

  ‘I was afraid so.’

  ‘Anyway, that’s why I’m here before my usual time. Miss Treen, there was another will.’

  Aunt Marjorie’s jaw dropped slowly. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Mrs Dunn said. ‘The master made it not long after he saved the carter and his lad from the river. I remember him talking about how the rescue reminded him of his own mortality, and how he needed to make sure his affairs were in order.’

  ‘This will supersedes the other?’ Aunt Marjorie said.

  ‘The will that the solicitor read out was dated from the year after I was born.’ Rose joined the conversation. Was there hope after all? Was Mrs Dunn’s memory of another will able to save them?

  ‘The second will was made when your mother was recovering from the birth of the twins,’ Mrs Dunn said.

  ‘Where is it then?’ Aunt Marjorie said.

  ‘The master wrote it out himself and asked me and Mr Hales to witness it. We made our mark, he said he would arrange to have it lodged with Mr Bray, and that was the last I saw of it.’

  ‘Mr Bray can’t have it in his possession,’ Aunt Marjorie said as Rose’s heart sank and fresh tears burned her eyes. ‘He’s been the family’s trusted solicitor for many years. It must still be here in the house. If we find it, it is possible that we will not need to prove that Oliver and Agnes were married.’

  Rose didn’t hesitate. It would be in Pa’s desk. She rushed into the study and began to rummage through the paperwork he’d left in a neat pile on the top. There was nothing resembling a legal document there, just notes from the Sanitary Society, a list of names of the poorest children in the neighbourhood whom her parents had been considering for free places at the school, and several sheets about tanning processes in Pa’s handwriting. She fell to her knees and pulled the drawers open, searching through them one by one. There were packets of envelopes, and writing paper, a spare bottle of ink, some unopened eau de cologne, pencils and a cravat: personal effects that made her want to cry.

  ‘Oh Pa,’ she whispered as she continued her search, aware of Mrs Dunn and Aunt Marjorie standing at the study door, watching her.

  ‘Well?’ Aunt Marjorie asked eventually.

  Rose shook her head. ‘It must be somewhere. He wouldn’t have made a new will for no purpose. Perhaps Mr Hales knows where it is. Or Ma,’ she went on, standing up and brushing the dust from her skirts. It appeared that neither Jane nor Mrs Dunn had been able to bring themselves to clean Pa’s study since he’d passed away. ‘I’ll go and ask her.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ her aunt said. ‘Thank you, Mrs Dunn. You have been most helpful.’

  ‘Well, I can’t stand by and let that woman take what rightfully belongs to the mistress,’ Rose heard her say as she ran up the stairs to her mother’s room.

  She found Ma lying in bed, her eyes dull and listless, staring at the ceiling.

  ‘Ma, this is important.’ She took a grip of her hand. ‘Mrs Dunn says that Pa made another will. When we find it, we will take it to Mr Bray and have the other overturned.’

  Her mother didn’t respond.

  Rose squeezed her fingers. ‘Please, Ma. You have to help us.’

  ‘Agnes, you must answer,’ Aunt Marjorie said, joining her at the bedside.

  ‘I can’t think straight,’ Ma muttered.

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’ Aunt Marjorie said sternly, reminding Rose that she was a governess as well as their dear aunt.

  ‘I don’t know. All I want is to be back in my Oliver’s arms, to hear his voice, to walk at his side.’ Ma’s body began to shake with grief.

  ‘This really won’t do.’ Aunt Marjorie raised her voice. ‘You have children who need you. Come on, my dear, tell us about the will.’

  Rose took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed the tears from Ma’s cheeks, then held her hand encouragingly.

  ‘I recall Oliver writing a new will naming our adopted and natural sons as beneficiaries with provision for me and our daughters,’ Ma whispered. ‘I told him to leave it to Mr Bray, but he got in his head that he could simply compose it himself, have it witnessed and lodged at the solicitor’s office. I wasn’t well at the time – I’d just had the twins and was confined to bed so I don’t know exactly what went on. It was’ – she sighed deeply – ‘a lifetime ago.’

  ‘You’re doing well, Ma,’ Rose said softly. ‘You must have some idea what Pa did with it.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry. I wish I had. I never saw it. I assumed that he’d delivered it to Mr Bray.’

  ‘Or had it delivered,’ Rose mused aloud. She wondered if Pa had sent one of the trimmin’s boys on that errand. Could the will have been lost on the way? ‘Ma, one more thing.’

  ‘Oh, I’m too exhausted for this.’ Ma winced. ‘I have a pain in my arm and my jaw aches.’

  ‘It’s a question you can answer with one word, yes or no. Were you and Pa married?’

  ‘No,’ she mouthed.

  ‘Thank you,’ Rose said, leaning across and pressing her lips to her mother’s forehead. ‘We will leave you to rest.’ She released her mother’s hand and turned to her aunt. ‘We have to find that will.’

  ‘I’ll write to my employers and ask permission to stay on for a while. They won’t like it, but I hope they understand that this is an emergency.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Rose said, worried about her aunt losing her place. At her age and level of infirmity, it would be well nigh impossible to find another position, but she and Arthur needed her to advise them and help them through their current crisis.

  ‘I’m too old for all this,’ Aunt Marjorie said, accompanying her down the stairs. ‘However, I’ll do anything for my dear Agnes and her wonderful family, and if that means turning this house upside down to find this missing will, we’ll do it. But first, we will speak to Mr Hales.’

  ‘Should one of us stay with Ma?’ Rose asked. ‘I’ve never seen her laid this low.’

  ‘Send the maid to fetch Mr Hales to us. That will save us trudging over to the tannery. My legs are playing up today.’

  ‘You must put your feet up,’ Rose exclaimed. ‘I’ll go and find Mr Hales after breakfast.’

  It was quite an interrogation for the poor man, she thought, when Aunt Marjorie requested his presence in the parlour upon his arrival at Willow Place. He’d had to take off his boots at the front door, and his toenails were sticking out through the holes in his woollen socks.

  ‘Do sit down,’ Aunt Marjorie said.

  His pipe clattered to the floor as he took the chair opposite her while Rose perched on the window seat, hardly able to bear the tension in the air.

  ‘What is this about, Miss Treen?’ he asked, picking up the pipe and tucking it in his belt. ‘I heard that the missus was sick.’

  ‘She’ll soon be on the mend, Mr Hales,’ Aunt Marjorie said. ‘Now, I have some questions for you. Do you remember witnessing a will for Mr Cheevers about twelve years ago?’

  He rubbed his bristly chin, the contact sounding like sandpaper against wood.

  ‘I do recall that occasion. Mrs Dunn and I were present to witness the gaffer’s signature.’ He frowned. ‘I’d ’ave done anythin’ for ’im. Anythin’,’ he repeated emphatically.

  ‘You’re very kind,’ Aunt Marjorie said.

  ‘’E was the best gaffer you could ask for. We all miss ’im on the yard.’

  ‘Please, Mr Hales, let’s return to the subject of the will. This is most important. Do you know what happened to the document after you signe
d it?’

  ‘I wish I could remember.’ He rubbed his chin again, more briskly this time, as if he might conjure up a genie to grant him his wish.

  ‘Think, Mr Hales. Think!’

  ‘Can’t Mrs Dunn help?’

  ‘The last time she saw it was on the desk in the study. She assumed that Oliver delivered it to Mr Bray’s office at a later date.’

  ‘Oh no, that isn’t right. I remember now – the gaffer blotted the ink, folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. Then he took it across to the yard and he was going to give Arthur a ha’penny to take it for him, but Mr Kingsley was there and he said he had some papers to lodge at the solicitor’s so he’d do it. For safety’s sake, that’s what ’e said. It’s strange that I can recall his words after all this time when I can hardly remember what I ’ad for my supper last night. For safety’s sake.’

  ‘It was kind of him,’ Aunt Marjorie said – rather stiffly, it seemed to Rose. ‘Thank you, Mr Hales. You may go back to work, but please keep this to yourself. I don’t want Agnes to think we’ve been discussing her business – I fear that it would send her into a relapse.’

  Mr Hales stood up. ‘I’ve worked for the gaffer and his grandfather for many years. You can rely on me to hold my tongue,’ he said. ‘Good morning, Miss Treen. Miss Cheevers.’

  When he had gone, Aunt Marjorie asked Rose to fetch the rosewater and sprinkle a little of it across the floor to hide the lingering scent of their visitor’s mouldering socks.

  ‘What are we going to do next?’ Rose said, returning with the bottle from where it was kept on the scullery shelves. She opened the lid and tipped the bottle, releasing drops of fragrance on to the floor and the chair, then straightened abruptly. ‘You don’t think Mr Kingsley had something to do with the will’s disappearance? Surely not? He’s family.’

  ‘He had motive, though.’

  ‘I don’t believe he’d stoop to such a thing.’

  ‘He and your father had their differences in the past. When Mr Kingsley married Temperance he expected Oliver, as his brother-in-law, to offer him a partnership in the business. He may well have lost or destroyed the second will – think about what he stood to gain, Rose, and you will see my theory isn’t that far-fetched.’